


Take Me Out (with a Glock 17)

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Take Me Out
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Crack, Crossover, F/M, Surprise Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:30:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's probably all in his head, but Sherlock finds himself on <i>Take Me Out</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Out (with a Glock 17)

The piece he chooses to exit the love lift to is a recording of his own rendition of _Sonata Number One in G minor, BWV 1001_ by Johann Bach. Even Paddy McGuiness seems a little taken aback.

He strides forward and turns, surrounded by people who are not difficult to work out. The smiles on the faces of the assembled thirty stretch their layers of make-up. Some are trying to dance along to the adagio tempo, and they are not succeeding.

“My name Sherlock and I’m from London.” There is a great cheer, as if a human’s existence is in itself an achievement.

When Paddy asks the girls if they’re turned on or turned off – as for Sherlock, showing off like this _would_ electrify him, if only he wasn’t being paraded like a heifer at a meat market – eight lecterns turn red. The crowd cheer again. Already, the noise and lights are making his head ring.

“So, Daisee, why did you turn your light off?”

“Er, like, I’m sorry but you remind me of my daddy’s racehorse! Not being funny, but.”

“No, you’re not being funny,” Sherlock replies.

“Alright, fair enough,” says Paddy (to fill the silence in the room after his exchange with Daisee, Sherlock supposes – she probably _thought_ she was being original). “Now, Kelseey, why did you keep your light on?”

“Ooh, he’s got a sexy voice, hasn’t he? Hello!” Kelseey says, and, to Sherlock’s horror, she gives him a little wave.

“As testosterone influences both voice and physical development, heterosexual women are biologically predisposed to find a deeper voice attractive,” Sherlock replies.

“Alright, looks like our Sherlock is the strong and fairly silent type,” Paddy says, and Sherlock scowls. “But let’s see if you still like him when you find out more about him. Remember, if you like what you see, leave your light be.”

Then they all watch the VT.

“I work as a consulting detective. I am not allowing this programme to film me at work to protect client confidentiality. I’m sure you’re wondering how much this work pays. It’s usually nothing. However, my brother keeps me in supply of tailored shirts and my parents give me a generous allowance in return for promising to never again explode their wooden summerhouse or run away from boarding school. Come to think about it, they would probably like to re-negotiate those terms. I rent my own flat in central London. I have no personal life.”

There is more applause, although it is out of routine now, muted when compared to the din at his initial entrance. _Good_ , Sherlock thinks.

Paddy turns to Chellsee, and asks her why she turned her light off during the VT. “Who doesn’t have a personal life?!” she asks, Sherlock presumes rhetorically. “You wouldn’t have any time for me with all those cases!” “I like my men to be self-sufficient,” says another woman, and Sherlock thinks angrily about how he’s clever enough to earn loads of money, if he wanted to or cared.

“Hi,” says Maysie, who has left her light on. She’s got big brown eyes and she’s only five foot one. “I love your coat. And I live in London too!”

“It’s a good coat,” Sherlock says. “As London is a city of eight million people, it is statistically likely that you and several other contestants live there. I will not find it preferable for my date to live nearby.”

“So,” Paddy says, looking as if he’s deciding to plough on regardless. “There are sixteen lights still on.”

“Remove your arm from around my shoulders,” Sherlock says to Paddy quietly. Paddy ignores him.

“Sherlock, you’ve got one more round to get through before you’ve guaranteed yourself a date. Let’s see what the girls think of you after we’ve heard from you flatmate, John.”

“He’s the one that made me do this. He told me it would be worth it,” Sherlock says, but no-one can hear him over the studio’s transitional music.

“Sherlock is a genius, a loyal man and my best friend,” John is saying onscreen. “He’s also very handsome. But, girls, I should warn you: he is a nightmare to live with. He plays the violin in the middle of the night, he often lounges about in nothing more than a dressing gown, and I regularly come home to find body parts in our fridge. So watch out if you ask him to fix you up some dinner.”

The audience laughs like it’s a joke.

Although most of the contestants were, for some reason, put off by his love of scientific experiments (and storing them in the fridge), four lights remain on.

“You and your flatmate seem a little too close,” giggles one of the girls who turned her light off. “Why do you live with a flatmate if you can afford to live on your own?”

Then there is yet another cheer because Sherlock’s got himself a date, and Paddy tells him that he can choose to narrow his selection down to two girls, or choose their mysterious girl. Peter André underscores his point.

“Can I leave fewer than two lights on?”

“No,” Paddy says.

Out of the four, he would choose the dental nurse from Stirling (could be useful, John knows disappointingly little about teeth) and the woman who has been advertising her small business at every opportunity and is lying about being single (he’ll inform the producers of the show she’s engaged, and she’ll be disqualified).

“To help you decide,” Paddy says, “here’s the voice of our mysterious girl.”

“Hello Sherlock,” she says, as if she is everywhere around him, for the voice is played loudly across the studio. “One thing you might like to know about me is that I’m still in your head, after all this time. Aren’t I?”

“Well, she’s not giving much away, is she?” Paddy says. “So, which two– “

“No,” frowns Sherlock. “I’ll take her,” and points upstairs. He finds the term he’s meant to say distasteful; she became much less of a mystery to him a while ago, and she is not the _girl_.

 

“We’re not going to Cyprus,” Irene Adler whispers in his ear after they ascend the steps and the studio lights go down. “We’re going far, far away.”


End file.
